Hello again!

I haven't dropped off the face of the planet... there is just SO MUCH going on right now.
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Anyhoo... Just wanted to check in and say hello.
Chat soon.
Toodles.

You know you're a hillbilly when...

... you have to shave your legs because you're going to the doctor.

Correction. You know you're a hillbilly when you wouldn't really shave if you knew he wouldn't have to actually look at your legs.

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I'm just saying.
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But, this time round, I was actually going to Doc because I suspected I had broken my foot in my haste to reach the bathroom. Because I always leave it to the last minute, then spend the last few steps to the ladies room doing a hoppity skippity doo-daa dance.

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This particular trip to the bathroom was more of a trip than a skip.

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And ended with the sound of crunching bones and much wailing.

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Never let it be said that I'm a hyperchondriac, people. I went three and a half weeks, hobbling around the house with my right foot bandaged and smelling of Wicks Bubblegum, mumbling to myself on account of a few handfulls of painkillers daily. And then I happened to connect with a hole in the driveway on the same day I stopped wearing my bandage.

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Which is never good if you're hoping to hit the malls.
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Only then did I decide it was time to see Doc.

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Off I dash to the bathroom to quickly shave my legs and de-grit my toenails. You know. So that the doc won't actually know I'm a hillbilly. Robin shouts a question or two through the bathroom door while I'm shaving that tricky bit around my ankle, and I kinda lose track of where I'm at. Rinse rinse. Rub some lotion into the dry-shaved leg, so I won't look like a CROCODILE in addition to being a hillbilly. And off we go.

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When we arrived at the doc's and I told him my sad tale of toe woe, he immediately ordered me up onto the bed to inspect my foot. But, alas, doc didn't only want to see my injured foot... He rolled up BOTH denims to around my knees and compared the two.

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Between his surprise at the difference between a very red, itchy, dry-shaved-and-therefore-rashy looking leg and a very white very hairy leg and his attempt to conceal his laughter, it was kind of hard to make out his diagnosis. Here and there I heard the words "Xray" and "immediately" and "painkillers". He didn't have to tell me twice. We were in the radiology department before he could say Pietpompies!

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Lessons I learnt from the experience:-

1. Never shave only ONE leg.
2. But if you are forced into shaving only one, then don't DRY shave the leg.
3. And definitely don't put cream onto the leg immediately afterwards, unless red, itchy and spotty is the look you're going for.
4. Never get excited at the Xray technician's diagnosis of "oh, there was definitely a crack there a few weeks ago, but I can see it's healed a bit already" and get all huffity puffity and say under your breath loudly enough to ensure hubby hears it that "I KNEW IT! and I told you so! but you all think I'm always exaggerating!"... until the REAL doctor gets a look at the xrays and tells you "there was never a crack there in the first place and you shouldn't listen to a TECHNICIAN's diagnosis seeing as he isn't a real doctor and all." Unless you enjoy lunching on Humble Pie. For a few days. While still nursing a bruised ego foot.

Crisis averted

OK, so I caught a bit of a speed wobble yesterday. I'll admit it. But today I'm totally in control. This "I'm having a baby and you're not!" thing is not going to get the better of me! I will be the bigger person.

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Unpreggy belly notwithstanding.

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I am a good head taller than Lindsay anyways.

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And who knows, maybe she'll totally freak out and beg me to adopt her second baby when the baby is crying all hours of night and keeping the whole household awake (Wishful thinking!) come to her senses and decide to do what's best for the baby, after all.

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Until then, I will take all of my clever friends and family's advice and MOVE ON! Pretend I don't know what's happening in Durban. And just love on my baby banana booger. I am already SO blessed to have her. I am totally grateful for her and could just spend all day kissing her dimpled cheeks!

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So, instead of being bitter and jealous and cross, I am going to be happy! Happy I have Jess and happy that I'm not still waiting for my baby. Happy that she is ours. Happy that Victor and Lindsay chose what was best for Jess. Without them we'd never have had her to begin with! So, I can't be cross with them for their decision this time round.

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And if, for some unknown reason, Victor and Lindsay also catch a speedwobble and need to ask us to adopt baby number two, dang!, I'll be happier still.

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I'm just saying.

Somebody pour me a stiff drink!

I actually don't have the words to express what I'm feeling right now. So I'm just going to tell you what's happening and you can imagine for yourselves how this has impacted us.

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Jesse-Lee's birthmother, Lindsay, is seven months pregnant. And she just found out a few days ago. It is a little girl. And she is keeping the baby this time round. She and Victor (Jesse-Lee's birthfather) are going to move in together and make a little family together.

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Forgive me if I'm sounding jaded and cynical. I'm just sharing the facts with you first. Because somehow I can make sense of this situation better if I just let it all hang right out there. I'll think about this all afterwards. Right now I just need to spill it.

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Ja, so Jesse-Lee was barely even 7 or 8 weeks old when her birthmother conceived again. A little seventeen year-old girl is giving birth to her SECOND child in a year! This fills me with rage and jealousy and anger and resentment and total absolute SHOCK! I cannot process this information. Even as I write these words I am shaking my head and clenching my jaw.

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Lindsay and Victor are going to care for this child, living in an abandoned wharehouse in an industrial area of a rambling city, where they will share ONE room with the rest of his family and ONE toilet with the rest of the tenants in the building. This is what they want for their second child together.

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They say that the pain of parting with Jesse-Lee was too great for them. Although I have never had to give away my baby, so I cannot relate to it, now that I've been a mom, I can well imagine how gut-wrenching that decision must have been for them.

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But what about THE BABY??? What about what's best for the baby? What about what's best for Jess? I look at Jess now, knowing that within 8 weeks she will have a baby sister. And where will her sister be? Over 300 kilometres away, living in squalor, the child of an abusive relationship.

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I am so angry! I know it is probably unreasonable. My head tells me that I shouldn't be so angry. But, dang!, I am! I am furious that Lindsay be given another child when I'm still unable to produce a sibling for Jesse-Lee. Not that we were trying again. But, there was a bit of Hope hanging around, that Jess would not land up being a single child. But that she would know the joy of having a brother or sister to tease her, to keep her company, to love and to laugh with.

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And now she will have the sibling. But without the relationship!

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I am so so SO hurting over this.

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How can Lindsay and Victor be SO selfish that they would deny their second child the opportunity to be cared for properly? To know her sister? To be OURS. Basically that's what I really want to say.

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I want her. I want that baby with every fiber in my being. I want to hold Jess and that baby together on my lap.

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And yet, I have no right whatsoever to even ASK for her.

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I know that I should be grateful we even have Jess. And yes, of course I'm grateful! Of course my heart fills with overwhelming love and adoration and total custard-pumping-madness for my daughter! Of course I'm grateful for her.

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Why, then, am I so upset about this new development?

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I don't understand why I feel the way I do. I am not going to rise in defense of my feelings. I am not going to be defensive about it. I simply feel it and I need to acknowledge it so that I can somehow process it.

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I just can't believe it. Jess is going to have a sister, and she won't be mine.

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I'm heartbroken.

Sleepless in Seattle Hillbillyland

This is my last Monday as a non-Mom. Can you believe that? I know, me neither. I think I'm in denial. Although last night, if I slept for ten minutes straight, then that's a lot. Maybe my body clock is starting to adjust to baby-feeding times etc.? I doubt it though - it would be surprising that my body is actually DOING what it's SUPPOSED to be doing, for a change. But I have dozens nay, hundreds of people telling me to get as much sleep as I can before the baby arrives, because apparently I will be willingly exchanging body organs for sleeptime after little Jesse-Lee arrives. Which is just as good as telling my body to never sleep again. Grrr. Because my body is really rebellious that way.

Just ask my fertility specialists. They'll tell you.

Anyhoo. Let me get some work done today. What a pity Dunhillbillydee doesn't have a starbucks. Where is a good caffeine kick when you need one?

Popular Schmopular

Me thinks this adoption thingy is a bit like a popularity contest. Only, you don’t really get to show how Exceptionally Gorgeous And Cool you are until the family actually meets you – and to all intents and purposes that only happens after they’ve already chosen you. And all that from a piece of paper on which you’ve written (or typed in a very nifty-looking font so as to make it look as if you’ve handwritten it all neatly…) a few choice bits of well edited information about yourself. And placed a few very good photos of yourself, making sure you’re also always smiling in the photos of course, into the letter as well. And don’t forget that you also need to choose photos that hide all your wobbly bits too. Which considerably decreases the amount of usable pics, if you know what I’m saying. Especially when you’re a big girl. Now, I’m not saying that I’m fat exactly. Just big-boned, you know. The kind of body where you always had to stand in the back row for school class photos. With the boys. Because you actually dwarfed a few of them. I’ve been described as “quite strong” before. Which always translated as “built like a walrus” in my head. So, I dare you – just try finding a few pics of yourself looking happy, smiling, semi-skinny and like the type of mommy that you think some anonymous person might like, for a letter in which you attempt to charm them into giving you their baby. It’s easier to find Brad Pitt in real life, let me tell you.

Especially when most of the photos you have of yourself were taken on one of your fat days. Or bad hair days. By someone who isn’t really a good photographer, and so captures you either with your eyes half closed or with your hand still patting down your frizzy hair. Or digging out a stray nostril noogie. I'm just saying.

But maybe, just maybe, they’ll overlook all that and choose me based on my remarkably breathtaking taste in shoes.

Then again, maybe they just see a walrus in flowery shoes. You just can't win.

Crazy Sexy and Things That Bite At Night

Well, what a good, solid navel-gazing session that was on Friday. Let's hope we don't go there for a long time again. (I just know you're all breathing huge sighs of relief right now - YAY! no more infertility issues for a while! It just might be safe to return to Char's blog!) I so hear you. And I agree. But I must tell you, I feel SO MUCH better for having vented a bit. And thanks for all the awesome comments you left me. I only read them a little while ago - I didn't trust myself to check my emails or my blog for a few days.

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But what a swift kick up my derrière I got when I watched Oprah on the weekend and realized what an enormous ungrateful sop I am really... I usually record all of the shows during the week, then sit down at some stage and do some catching up while the dirty dishes attract flies and cockroaches stacked in the kitchen sink. So I snuggled into my favourite couch with a cuppa and pressed play on my nifty pvr (I think some of you called that teevo?). The show was called Dr Oz: A Special Report on Death. I know - just makes you wanna go out and buy a copy of the show, huh? But seriously - if I watched that show once this weekend, I watched it fifty-two times. Dr Oz interviewed a lady named Kris Carr and I was bowled away by her exuberance and total passion for life. And get this - she is diagnosed with stage four cancer. Since she was diagnosed, she has created the documentary Crazy Sexy Cancer for TLC. And then went on to write the book Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips. What an AMAZING woman! I just couldn't get past something that she said when Dr Oz interviewed her for Oprah...

"I think that life is just too sweet to be bitter," she says. "Once I was able to change my focus, desperation led to inspiration. Once I was able to do that, I looked around me. I made so many changes and I thought, 'This is an awesome life. I mean, honestly, I don't think anybody has a better life than me. When people ask me 'How do you live your life with the knowledge of cancer?' I say 'I might not ever be able to get rid of it, but I can't let that ruin my life.'"

Hello. Wow. What a paradigm shift. The Oprah website says:-

Kris says the way she has reacted to her cancer is the way everyone should evaluate their lives. "I think just go for it. Life is a terminal condition. We're all going to die," she says. "Cancer patients might have more information, but we all, in some ways, wait for that great permission to live."

I am so going to buy her book. I could use some of her enthusiasm! And would you know it - she blogs! Could she get more perfect? I wonder if she'd like to be my new best friend for ever?

Seriously. I mean - she has CANCER! I'm not even dying and I was moping about so much that I wouldn't have objected if I'd known my funeral was imminent. I have to stop moping. There is so much to LIVE for. Life is worth living. Not just existing.

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I choose to be a tigger, not an eeyore. (Quote: Randy Pausch, the other interviewee on that show that day. Click on the link to watch the awesome talk he gave.)

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Before I go and try to make friends with Kris leave a comment on Kris's blog, I just have to tell you about my going-to-bed incident last night. I did my usual pre-bedtime routine (I'm a creature of habit, y'all) then as I was pulling apart my bed (continental cushions, spare pillows, quilt, etc.) I heard the strangest crackling sound. It sounded like static electricity. Mmmm... wonder what could be making that sound? Continued pulling pillows off the bed. Then, as I was removing my extra pillows I heard the sound again. And guess what it was? An ENORMOUS spider web from my pillow to the bedside table. Oh my word! And, where there be spider webs, there be... yip: Those Icky Leggy Things That Bite At Night. And leave enormous welts all over your body. More than once. Out came the trusty DOOM spray, and I proceeded to fumigate everything. Which apparently causes said Icky Leggy Things That Bite At Night to come out of their hiding places. But not die.

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I had to photograph it, because you wouldn't have believed me if I had to tell you how big this thing was. Behold the Bugg(er).

And you wonder why I have trouble sleeping! Grrr... Gives me the hippy creapies just thinking about it!

Shoes, shoes, shoes

I had a bit of a problem getting dressed this morning. I just could not decide what I wanted to wear. Usually I choose my shoes first, then a shirt to match. My standard attire for work daily is denims with a girly shirt and boring sensible shoes. Sensible because we're always plodding around on dirty sites, and I've ruined one too many pairs of to-die-for dainty shoes. But this morning, I so did not want to wear boring clod-hoppers. I was in a hooray-for-shoe-designers mood. (Cue the Legally Blonde soundtrack...) Hence the farting around in my dressing room when I should have already been at work indecision.
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Who can blame me when there are such FABULOUS shoes to choose from?
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And since you're wondering, I chose a sensible boring pair after all. It's all about responsibility and all of that grown-uppy stuff. Sigh!

100 Things

It is my one hundredth blog today! So, according to blogging tradition, today's the day I share 100 things about me, you probably didn't know! Ready? Here we go...

1. Put on Madonna and I’ll be shaking my booty.
2. I had railway tracks (braces on my teeth) in high school.
3. My teeth are straight, but not pearly white.
4. I play the Piano.
5. And the fool.
6. I’m bad with money.
7. I collect shoes.
8. I love eating.
9. I love cappuccinos even more.
10. The sound of puking makes me want to join the chorus.
11. I lived in Germany for a year.
12. I speak three languages. If you count my terrible German.
13. I’m a blog-a-holic.
14. My favourite gift is anything that smells good.
15. My hair is actually grey.
16. I prefer it brown.
17. I can’t hit a ball. Moving or stationary.
18. “50 First Dates” is my favourite movie of all time.
19. Oprah is my hero.
20. I’ve never been able to do a cartwheel.
21. I am right-handed.
22. I used to play the guitar. And the organ. And the clarinet. And the saxophone.
23. Not all at once.
24. I’ve never broken a bone.
25. I can hold a tune, but I can’t sing.
26. I’m good at making deserts.
27. My first car was a yellowy-green Volkswagen Beetle (a 1970-something model)
28. I used to water-ski in my teen years.
29. I hate washing dishes.
30. My cellphone’s ringtone is “Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer
31. I’m afraid of heights.
32. The sleeping bag has to be zipped totally open, or else I get claustrophobic.
33. My favourite book is “The Sword and The Scimitar” by David Ball.
34. I have never read the Bible from cover to cover.
35. I should.
36. If my cat wasn’t jealous, I’d have at least six more.
37. My uncle used to call me Bones when I was a teen, cos I was so skinny. Those were the days.
38. I hate dieting.
39. I hate exercising more.
40. I used to ride a motorbike in high school and university.
41. I only figured out how cricket scoring worked when I was about 25.
42. I have really small boobs.
43. I want to get new boobs.
44. My mom thinks that’s crazy.
45. I love my mom.
46. Two of her sisters had breast cancer.
47. I have been the driver in two car accidents.
48. Only one of them was my fault.
49. I had a small business painting paintings, and doing portraits. It didn’t last.
50. I get bored easily.
51. I like squeezing pimples. I know! Ew!
52. I only have one sibling. She’s one of my favourite people on earth!
53. I’ve been to Spain on holiday. And New York City. And Paris. And London. And Namibia. And Kruger National Park. I love travelling.
54. I’m an American Idols-aholic.
55. When I was growing up, I was convinced I’d be rich and famous.
56. I don’t like wearing lipstick.
57. That’s probably why I’m not rich and famous.
58. I always carry a tube of germ-destroying waterless hand cleaner in my handbag.
59. I was once a member of a touring missionary team.
60. I have hair on my big toes.
61. Robin always tries to pull them out.
62. I have lots of really good friends. With and without hair on their toes.
63. I can’t wait for The Second Coming.
64. I like my eyelashes.
65. I love singing harmonies.
66. I acted in every school drama production, every year I was in high school.
67. I wasn’t good at it.
68. Which is probably also why I’m not rich and famous.
69. I would love to meet Charlize Theron and ask her why she dropped her South African accent.
70. I love being an aunty.
71. I would love to be a mom.
72. I don’t like gardening.
73. I’m a perfectionist.
74. It would take me longer to prune one bush, than for our gardener to do our whole garden.
75. I like to think I could do it better than he does.
76. If I won a million bucks, I’d buy us a new house.
77. Two of my closest friends died on two of my family members’ birthdays.
78. I studied Art at college.
79. I don’t like to be in people’s bad books.
80. Christmas is my favourite time of the year.
81. I leave the fairy lights up about three months longer than they should be.
82. There are always at least four books on my bedside table. And I am reading all of them.
83. I try to memorize every “goodbye” moment, because I may never see the person again.
84. I only eat chocolate on days ending in “ay”
85. I’ve only permed my hair twice. I looked like a bottle brush.
86. I will never perm my hair again.
87. My hair grows way too slowly.
88. My tonsils were forcibly removed from me when I was six. I am still traumatized.
89. Tulips are my favourite flowers.
90. All of my best friends live too far away. Like at least 500 km’s away. Which is probably a good thing considering the hairy toes thing.
91. I tried to smoke once. I almost died coughing.
92. I do not smoke.
93. I kept a diary for 8 years. Every day.
94. I burned all the diaries a week before I got married.
95. I love being punctual.
96. My husband doesn’t.
97. I’m not very patient.
98. I love my husband more than I love myself.
99. I praise God every day for him.
100. I believe God has a specific plan for me to find happiness in Him.

May's Maybe's

A bunch of you have been asking about the Angus anointing. As with All Things Preggy Related, it's a waiting game. As I understand it, Mr Buchan doesn't usually take personal appointments with people. If someone wants to be anointed, then you must go to wherever he'll be preaching next. Apparently his next local (KZN) preaching appointment is on the 20th of May in Bergville, which is about 2 hours drive from us. So, we'll probably be going to spend the day in Bergville in two week's time.

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I'm going to see if I can twist my mom's arm to take her along, because do you remember about two months ago we had to rush her off to the emergency room in the middle of the night? Well, after a thorough investigation by a cardiologist, they have decided to send her in to a special hospital here in Durban (see how God looks after His children? The right hospital is right here in our city!) where they will be doing some or other procedure to lazer a portion of nerves on her heart that are malfunctioning, and the procedure will take place on the 23rd May. She told me the name of the procedure, but my memory's shot (see? Menopause???) and I just can't remember what it's called. Hhmmmph. So, I figure Angus could pray for her too, while we're there. More people praying could never hurt. I'm quietly so anxious about this procedure. I guess it has something to do with the fact that there's nothing we can do about it. She's going to have this op. It's going to happen. And we don't even get a say in what the doctor will be eating for breakfast that day! Leave alone whether or not he washes his hands properly before he enters the surgery. It's a bit scary that we're entrusting the life of my mom into the hands of a surgeon we have never even seen!

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So, May's turning out to be quite a big month for us!

11-13 May: taking the church kids camping for a weekend of fun

16th May: our first appointment for adoption from Russia (meeting in Joburg)

20th May: Bergville for Angus thingy

22nd May: Robin's 32nd birthday

23rd May: my mom's op

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As with all things, I am reminding myself that whatever happens, God has only our best in mind, and has a specific plan for each of us to find happiness in Him (Jeremiah 29 v 11-13). I rest assured that no matter what, we'll be ok. God and I, I mean. I took a decision recently that I would serve Him. And I mean it. As long as we're on lil Planet Earth, we can expect Satan to fiddle with our happiness. But in the end, God is so much bigger than any problem we might face. And I know He carries me in the palm of His hand. My mom too. And so I will fear no evil. (Psalms 23 v 4) Nor worry about tomorrow. (Matthew 6 v 25-31)

"Surely they may forget,
Yet I will not forget you.
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands..."
Isaiah 49 v 15, 16

A far cry from my younger days

Alas! After my extensive research (see left!) I think it's safe to assume I have entered menopause.

Fat is as fat does

One groovy side-effect of the Ozone Therapy is (supposedly) getting thinner. Well, I could use some of that, that's for sure. I don't know - since I started trying to eat like a vegan (I say like a vegan cos I don't really consider myself a vegan yet... still trying my best though!) - the first week or two I dropped a few kg's... but since then, I've been getting podgier and podgier again. It might be that I put three heaped teaspoons of soya milk in every cuppa chicory I drink, and I have about 3 or 4 cups a day... so, that works out to... um, 3 x 3 = 9, yes 9 teaspoons (heaped, mind you) of soya milk daily. And that's if I only have three cuppas. Maybe I should go slow on the soya milk. That should do it.

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So, anyway, about this dodgy podgy situation. I think I might be reaching early menopause. Something to do with turning thirty-two twenty-seven, and all of that. Reaching mid-life and getting that mid-life spread. I'm not kidding! Seriously. There's this not-so-welcome tyre that's decided to move in and settle around my waist. Not to mention all the flab dangling off of my arms. Ew. That's my pet peeve. OH! and have I told you about my square butt? It used to be pert. Now it's port-ly.

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But I digress. What I wanted to address was menopause. They don't call it menopause for nothing hey. Men-no-pause. I'm not saying I'm a looker or anything like that, but in my younger days it wasn't unusual to turn a few heads. Hard to believe, I know. But now - shucks! Even if I wear lipstick, which is like seriously dressing up for me, not even a second glance in my direction. Thank goodness for my spiffy hubby who still thinks I'm hotter than the Namib.

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But also, aren't night sweats a symptom of menopause? I get night sweats almost every night. I wake up and my nighty is drenched - especially around my neck area... and always around the same time of night too. Three o' clock it's pull the duvet off the bed and replace with a lightweight comforter time. And then at about quarter to four, fourish, it's grab the thicker duvet time again. Every night. My poor hubby. He doesn't even wonder what I'm up to anymore. He just lies very still, so as to avoid being whacked by the duvet when I'm shaking it out over the bed.

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So, what's with this menopause thing? I think I should do some research. Any info from you guys would be very useful.

Zzzzzz....

I slept last night. Full stop.

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I drifted off to sleep during American Idol and that should tell you something. I. Never. Miss. An. Episode. Of. American. Idol. Ever.

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I was in bed by 20h30 and never stirred again until 07h15 this morning. Eleven full hours of sleep. Glorious! If you're wondering why this sounds suspiciously like an accomplishment, it's because it is, for me. It's been about four or five weeks of watching the clock tick until about 01h24 in the morning, popping a sleeping pill out of pure desperation, then struggling to wake up the next morning, because the pill hasn't worn off yet. [I wonder if going cold turkey on the cappuccino's a few weeks ago doesn't have something to do with the insomnia?]

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This morning there are actually birds chirping outside. And when I blink it doesn't take a few seconds for the world to come back into focus again.

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Shucks, this sleep thing is a wonderful invention. I should have tried it weeks ago!

Sleeping pills, Cappuccinos and One Baby Please

Sleep? Who needs sleep? If I slept more than three hours last night, then that's a lot! Put me on the couch, watching a really good show, and I'm asleep before you can say Tom-Welling-could-leave-his-toothbrush-in-my-bathroom-cabinet-any-day.

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Instant Insomniac. Just add bed.

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That's me. My mistake last night was waiting until about 01h30 before I popped a sleeping pill. So, today, I'm like Mr Bean with the toothpics holding up his eyelids... But yippee! It's Monday, and that means I get to have my 1 x cappuccino (my beloveds!!!) per week. Bliss.

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Some other news.

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Robin and I are not happy to live our life without children in it. So, we are exploring new options. One of them being... wait for it... donor eggs! Anybody want to share your eggs with me? haha. Just kidding. I have made an appointment with a NEW doctor at a clinic here in Westville, about three minutes from my home / office... but the earliest appointment they could give me is 15 May, so once again, we are playing The Waiting Game. Nothing new. Anyway, depending on what this doc says, we will either proceed with the I.V.F. (I never in a million years thought I'd be willing to go the I.V.F. route! Just shows where desperation will lead you!) or we will forget the whole "have our own baby" thing, and start adoption proceedings from Russia. Both options are very expensive (tens of thousands of rands per try!) but what's another couple thousand in the deep pond of our baby-making-spendings? So, here we go again. One rocky rollercoaster road please. With sprinkles.

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Aren't you all getting sick and tired of reading about our mis-conceptions? I know I am. That's one of the reasons why I so badly want to take a shortcut now and just adopt! Less hormones, less stress... Less is more!

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Here we go again.

Sleepless nights

I used to have them all the time. So I would read until the sandman had dumped the Namib into my eyes, click off my bedside lamp, then be miraculously wide awake again. Why can't that happen when you're trying to watch a really good show and you fall asleep just as the plot thickens, and awake just as the credits roll? Murphy's Law and all of that.
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But no. Insomnia comes with the territory. It's another one of those lovely by-products of being "uptight". A very good friend once told me that one of the reasons I couldn't fall pregnant or asleep was probably because I am tightly wound. Deeply offended and mortified at the time, every last hair on the back of my head rose in self-righteous indignation. As if it wasn't enough that I couldn't "just have faith" and I would be pregnant!
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However, and I've given this a lot of thought, so make sure you're seated for this one... There's something to be said for friends who speak the truth to you, even when they know they might hurt you, but care enough about you to know that you actually do need to hear it. Because sometimes, as much as we (by we, I actually mean I...) would rather have an enema than admit it, they are one hundred percent totally on-the-dot right.
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I'm a slow learner though. It's taken me all of three years to come to the point that I am finally willing to concede. Padda, you were on-the-dot, my friend. You were right and I am uptight. And that sux. Because even though I am now "just relaxing" and not even trying to fall pregnant anymore, and even though the sandman is still my guest every night, I am still sleepless.
.
And I didn't even have a beloved* yesterday.
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*beloved's = my cappuccino's